The Rose in the Snake Pit
by TimeFury1347
Summary: In the wake of the Sept of Baelor's destruction, two Great Houses meet to discuss the future of Westeros, and where they themselves lie in it. The Sand Snakes of Dorne, rulers and killers in one. The Queen of Thorns, as sharp as her namesake and an old player in the Game. And the Young Rose, the last of his line, seeking justice and vengeance for those he lost.
1. Chapter 1

The sun beat down on the earth beneath it relentlessly, lighting up each and every area it could with its golden rays. The ground itself was hot, the stone and sand swallowing up the heat as fast as it could receive it, warming the pathways and adding to the uncomfortable sensation of any sort of extraneous work that didn't take place in the shade. The weather was nothing out of the ordinary, a typical day for a desert and the inhabitants of the towns and cities that littered it surface. The people of Dorne were a hardy folk, raised in the sun and accustomed to its burning heat. They were the only people in all of Westeros who had the capacity to function properly in these circumstances without being driven to insanity through heatstroke, helping to explain how no man foreign to this land had managed to successfully conquer the region for any great extent of time. Eventually, all were driven out, the invaders and occupiers destroyed through either the blinding light beating down on them, or by the many, many different horrors that lived below it. Scorpions, snakes, poisons to name but a few. Dorne was its own world, its own kingdom, and its people would do anything to keep it that way. A fact that had been proved true in the most violent of ways not so many moons ago.

While the rest of Dorne sweltered, the air was significantly cooler in the Water Gardens, the cool pools and streams helping to push back the hot air with their refreshing splashes. In times gone by, these pools would have echoed with the laughter of children, the sounds of joy and play as they splashed about in the sparkling liquid. Back in a time when peace reigned, when there was calm and at least the semblance of order in the world. Now though, the laughter existed only in memory, the realities of the world having come crashing down over the past few years. Now, the pools were empty, the water only occupied by the handful of plants that floated on its surface. Instead of being used to cool those who wandered beneath the hot sun, the pools now served as a background to possibly one of the most historic meetings that had ever taken place in Dorne, its like not seen since the nation finally entered the Seven Kingdoms under the reign of the Targaryens. Under the shade of a canopy, around a dark wooden table, there sat a group of some of the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms. One of side, there sat the rulers of Dorne, former Paramour Ellaria Sand and the daughters of Oberyn Martell, known throughout the world as the Sand Snakes. Tyene, Nymeria and Obara, a collection of perhaps some of the most dangerous women that could be discovered, all of them trained in the arts of war and death. Having killed their way to the top of the Dornish food chain, killing the former prince and any who stood in their way, they were not a force to be reckoned with. Yet, for all their past viciousness, they now were silent, looking across the small expanse to the two people sitting opposite, people whose hearts were heavy enough to break the chairs they sat on and drag them down to the depths of the Seven Hells.

On one such chair, Olenna Tyrell rested. An old woman, her features had been weathered by age, leaving her wizened and appearing to be no true threat to anyone. And how wrong would this assessment be. Perhaps one of the most intelligent people living, she had decades of knowledge in the Game of Thrones, having guided her house through two wars and three pathetic excuses for kings, bringing them to the forefront of power in Westeros. At least, until very recently. Dressed all in black, her eyes were filled with a crushing weight, one that she fought to hide from those in front of her. Pain was all she knew at that moment, a pain that shattered her heart and made her want to curl up and just cease. Only her burning desire of vengeance prevented this from happening. Well, that and the young man sitting beside her.

This young man, looking to have barely entered his twenties, sat back in his chair, leaning in a comfortable slouch, looking to be only a few moments from sleep, that radiated an aura of confidence and control, one that served to smother the roiling turmoil occurring inside his head. Tall and lean, his body was clearly strong beneath the clothing he wore, although wiry instead of buff, the body of a thief over that of a warrior. His head was covered in a dark brown mass of curly hair that managed to tickle his shoulders, while his golden eyes were hard and burning with anger as they stared across at the four women. He wore dark clothing like his older companion, his body wrapped in black save for the golden rose pin that lay over his heart. One hand rested on the arm of the chair he sat in with such doctored comfort, while the other lay in his lap, thin fingers wrapped around a small necklace that had a delicate looking rose dangling from the end, the whole thing looking as fragile as glass at first appearance. His thumb ran across the golden surface almost of its own free will, its owner not noticing the repetitive action. This man was Lukas Tyrell, brother to Margaery and Loras Tyrell, and, as of only a handful of days ago, the new Lord of the Reach, the cause of this sudden elevation the topic of the already tense meeting.

"The last time a Tyrell came to Dorne, he was assassinated. 100 red scorpions, was it?" Olenna began, her tone suggesting that the meeting was nothing more than a casual luncheon, as opposed to the colossal shift that had instigated it. The Dornish party, however, seemed less inclined to carry on in this fashion.

"You have nothing to fear from us, Lady Olenna." Ellaria said, her words trying to comfort the old woman across from her, as though she were shivering with fright. "And the same applies to you as well, my lord." She added, addressing Lukas, the mention of his title a mixture of neutrality and subtle mockery, although not enough to require a response. At these words of assurance, the young lord finally chose to speak up, his head rolling upwards to meet the eyes of the former Paramour.

"Well, you'll forgive my grandmother if we don't immediately trust you. Even in Dorne, I assume kinslaying merits some form of wariness." He spoke, his voice calm, but with an undertone of venom when speaking of the past actions that had given the women their power. It had never sat well with him, increasing his concern over the meeting in the first place. Olenna, while not showing any reaction on her face, allowed a sliver of approval to enter her at her grandson's words. He was playing his role beautifully, she could have asked for nothing better.

"We invited you to Dorne because we needed your help." One of the Sand Snakes spoke up, her voice laying out the bare facts of the situation. While Lukas couldn't quite remember her name, he did appreciate the lack of flowery vocabulary. Despite his family's sigil, he'd never shared the skill of his sister for conversing in double meanings. "You came to Dorne because you needed our help."

"What is your name again? Barbaro?" Olenna had turned her attention to the speaker by this point, her famous barbed tongue coming into full effect. At this hidden slight to the woman, Lukas couldn't help but smirk slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. One of the other women, far more attractive than the stern object of his grandmother's focus, also seemed amused, a small sigh released from her that clearly showed her enjoyment. Nothing changed on the stern snake's face however, a feat that Lukas had to commend. Not many could stare down the Queen of Thorns with such steel.

"Obara." She said simply, correcting the Tyrell matriarch and trying to show her strength as she did so, staring directly at the famed old woman. Olenna was having none of it, however.

"Obara." She repeated, drawing the name out. "You look like an angry little boy. Don't presume to tell me what either of us," she quickly darted a finger out to point at her grandson, "need." Lukas felt the slight swell of pride in his chest at the small gesture. His grandmother had never shown him such a sign of equality in front of others before, and it truly was a good feeling for the young lord. The beautiful snake then chose that moment to speak. Lukas almost felt sorry for her.

"Forgive my sister. What she lacks in diplomacy, she makes…" Her words were cut off nearly as soon as they had begun.

"Do shut up, dear." Lady Olenna's sharp words quickly silenced the woman, a spectacle that Lukas was all too familiar with. In truth, if he had a single copper for every time he had been witness to someone being silenced by his grandmother… well, he'd be able to give the Iron Bank a run for their money. Counting two of the Sand Snakes who had decided to raise their voices, he turned to look at the last one, sitting on the side of the table closest to him, merely watching the events unfold.

"And what about you, anything to say?" He sent the question at the woman, careful to lace his words with what sounded like genuine curiosity. In truth, he honestly possessed some small amount of curiosity over the answer. After all, from his experience, the quiet ones tended to be the more intelligent. The woman looked up at him, a look of surprise on her face that lasted for a second, before she opened her mouth to reply.

"No? Good." Olenna didn't hesitate to cut off any comment before it could begin, the young woman quickly closing her mouth at the sudden dismissal. Lukas felt bad for her for a second, before remembering who she was. Why he was concerned with these kinslayers was beyond him. He still allowed another smirk to twitch at his jaw thanks to his grandmother's words, recognising how he had partly served to assist in her intimidation game. A game that, where once he would have had no part in if he could help it, he now was ready to play wholeheartedly. The choice he had once had was gone, no point pretending that it was still there. "Let the grown-ups speak." Lukas wasn't entirely certain as to whether or not he fell in that category, but decided against posing the question out loud. While the pair hadn't been overly close in the past, Olenna had spent her time grooming him into the perfect little noble, as well as directing him in his quest for a sharper mind. If he thought there was something worth saying, he would say it. His grandmother's training had made sure he'd know when to speak around her.

"The Lannisters have declared war on House Tyrell. They have declared war on Dorne." Ellaria's voice pulled the young Tyrell back to the matter at hand, her words outlining the situation. A waste of time in his opinion. Everyone in the small group knew of what had happened. It was pointless to repeat it, losing them time that could be spent on more important matters. "We must be allies now if we wish to survive." The statement itself hid nothing sinister in it, being only another statement of the facts. Live together or die apart. But, just hearing the words caused something inside of Lukas to snap. Before he could stop himself, he began to speak.

"Cersei Lannister stole my entire world from me." He began, his voice quiet but the words enough to silence any interruptions, the only sound being that of the water in the pools. "She killed my father. She killed my brother. She…" his voice caught in his throat for a second, the prickling sensations of tears beginning in the corners of his eyes. "…she killed my sister." He looked up at this, and the Dornish women, all focused on the young lord, recoiled slightly at the look of burning hatred in his eyes. "Believe me when I say that survival is the last thing on my mind right now." Lukas felt a hand grasp his, the old, worn fingers of his grandmother resting over his clenched fist lightly as he finished his speech. She squeezed his hand lightly, the first public gesture of warmth or comfort she had ever shown him, and he felt the muscles in his back relax from their tightened state. Getting it all off of his chest had helped to remove some of the denial he had carried since the fateful day he had learned of the events in King's Landing, and he hadn't realised just how much he had been carrying around, until it was replaced by a soul wrenching pain. In that moment, the light grip from his last living family member was worth more to him than all the gold in Casterly Rock.

"You're absolutely right." Ellaria was quick to recover, getting over her shock and regaining the cool footing she had lost only seconds before. "I chose the wrong words. It is not survival I offer. It is your heart's desire." As the woman rang the small bell that rested on the armrest of her chair, Lukas looked up, mind whirring as he thought through what it could mean. _His heart's desire_? Was this woman being honest with him? If so, then maybe there was something to be gained in hearing her out. Olenna Tyrell, on the other hand, was more sceptical of this claim.

"Oh? And what is my heart's desire?" She asked, as if talking to a child. The scorn in her words, however, was negated by the look in her eyes, the look of desperation, of anger, of pain. The same look that had filled the eyes of her grandson for so long.

"Vengeance. Justice." Ellaria said plainly, summarising in two simple words the only wishes of the young Reachman across from her, as well as those of perhaps the most intelligent and politically savvy woman in all of Westeros. As she spoke, the sound of footsteps could be heard, and Lukas looked up to find their source. There, stood to the side and having almost appeared out of thin air, stood a man that the young Tyrell had never expected to see again, the one man who, out of all the known world's inhabitants, might have the ability to bring him what he wanted most.

"Fire and blood." Varys said, face devoid of any mirth or expression, mouth set in a hard line as he revealed, once and for all, the true plan that he had followed for nearly the past two decades, the plan that had brought old enemies together in a common cause. And Lukas sat back, ready to hear of his chance for vengeance.

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Lukas stood in guest chambers in Sunspear, strapping his sword belt tightly around his waist as he prepared to leave. After the plan had been laid out, the truth behind the scheme revealed, he had been instructed to accompany the Tyrell and Martell forces that were to sail back to Meereen with Varys, as an envoy for the newly formed powerhouse that had developed over the past few days. Olenna would organise the formation of the rest of the Reach's host, ready and waiting for their lord to return in time for the war to start. A concept which both terrified and energised Lukas.

He had taken very little part in the last war, the one which had led to the highest rise and lowest fall of his House. He had ignored the petty squabbles of Baratheon and Lannister over who should be king, viewing the entire thing as a waste of lives. Who cared who sat on the Iron Throne? It would make as little difference to the Seven Kingdoms as his choice over beef or mutton at dinner. While others had rushed to either one side or the other, he had remained at Highgarden, surrounded by his beloved books as he waited for the conflict to end. Even once he had been summoned to the capital, to help consolidate the Tyrell influence there, he hadn't cared, merely treating his time there as a chance to learn more, to gain more allies for himself, and to see what the Red Keep's library had to offer. Some might call him craven for refusing to fight, others might call him traitor for interacting with those the victors looked down on. He hadn't cared. He had simply got on with his life, ignoring the desires of his House and family in favour of his own. And look where that had gotten him. A fractured realm, the family almost eradicated in the space of a second, and another war on the horizon. But this time would be different.

This time, he would fight. Strapping his quiver to his back, Lukas silently promised himself of this simple fact. He had sat on the side-lines too long, watching and waiting for things to blow over when he had chosen not to do anything, despite his ability to do so. His negligence had been born from the freedom of a second son, a freedom he no longer had. So be it. He had learned much in his life, from books or his time in either the court of Highgarden or King's Landing. He knew how people ticked, how to make allies, and how to direct a situation to go his way. Now was the time to put it all to the test. Picking up his bow from its place on the bed, he ran his fingers over it gently, admiring, not for the first time, the smooth material it was made out of. Dragonbone. A gift for his sixteenth nameday. Allowing the familiar grip to find its place in his hand, he slowly walked out of his chamber, towards the waiting ships in the harbour, and towards the future of Westeros. The Tyrell words may have been _Growing Strong_ , but he was going to show the enemies of his house how dangerous a rose could truly be. After all, beneath their calm exterior, the thorns were always waiting.

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 **Hey guys. Thanks for reading!**

 **So, this is just an idea that came to me last night. "What if Margaery had a twin brother" is a scenario that's been knocking around in my head for a while now, and, since this is probably my second favourite scene in Game of Thrones, (The first obviously being Jon Snow's the King in the North), I just thought, what the hell? This is a oneshot for now, but I will be posting new ones for Lukas up whenever I get a new idea. If you have any specific areas you think I should try, or any pairings you want him in, I'm open to all suggestions. Tyene is probably one of my favourite GoT characters, just in the Top 10, so maybe…**

 **Ah, I don't know. Until next time, see ya later!**

 **TimeFury1347**


	2. Chapter 2

The land slowly began to fall away behind the ship, as it sailed out further into the ocean, large canvas sails filled with air and pulling it and its passengers onwards, towards their destination. Lukas stood at the rear of the ship, hands resting on the rail as he stared back in the direction Dorne had once been, now overtaken by sea and sky. Watching the line of the horizon for a second longer, he closed his eyes, breath slowing as he sought to find a sense of calm. The noise of the sailors fell away, the faint sounds of the nearby ships quickly following suit, until it was only him and the gentle music of the sea. The wind that pulled them on played through the young lord's hair, and he could pretend, just for a minute, that there wasn't a war brewing on the horizon. He could live for a brief period in his memories, back before the entire world went to shit.

He had always loved the water growing up. From swimming in the Mander, alongside Margaery's pleasure barge, to his opportunity to sail a galley to and from the Summer Isles, Lukas could never get enough of it. Even during his recent stay in Oldtown, passing the time training to be a maester, he had always taken the time to sail or swim as often as he could. From the moment he could walk, he had wanted to see the world, and the sea, coupled with his status as a second son, had allowed him to satiate that desire. He had travelled all across Westeros, from Dorne to the Wall, and even to a handful of the Free Cities. Although this freedom had been cut short by his family's political manoeuvring for the Iron Throne, Lukas always treasured his time on the water, or even near it. The one place that he truly felt free, truly felt in command of his own fate. Not that that freedom had lasted very long.

From the day he had turned seventeen, he had, unwillingly, become a pawn in his grandmother's plans. She had ordered him, through her Lord son and his own wish to roam, to tour the Reach, gaining the loyalty of his House's vassals. It was obvious as to why. Loras, while his father's heir, had never possessed much skill for Lordship, instead devoting his time to swordplay and tourneys. And, as unmatched as he was in those areas, it would have served him nothing could he not command his bannermen's respect. And this, therefore, was the role Lukas had been forced to fill. Castle by castle, Lord by Lord, he had done what his brother refused to do, bringing their loyalty to the heir of Highgarden. And, unknowingly, to himself at the same time. Lukas hadn't complained, however. Despite his wanderlust, he loved his family more than anything, willing to do whatever was needed for their benefit. His future as a cadet branch of the family, or even the Steward of Highgarden, was almost perfectly planned out for him in this. This mentality, however, had been pushed to the very edge of breaking when the Lady Olenna had packed him off to Oldtown, to broaden his intellect in service of the family. An action that, while he took to it like a duck to water, Lukas had always resented of his grandmother. Her following choices in the war and limited peace had done nothing to ease this tension.

At the thought of his grandmother, Lukas' calm began to fade away, as he played through the brief interaction he had shared with the old woman not long before his departure.

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Lukas made his way along the path, back into the heart of the Water Gardens. He was prepared, the ships were ready to sail, but a message from the Lady Olenna had called all of that seemingly to a halt, much to the young man's annoyance. And yet, still he followed the messenger to the meeting space. Eager to get under way he may have been, but not nearly enough to risk the Queen of Thorns' wrath.

"You called for me, grandmother?" he let his presence be known as he stopped. Olenna was still sitting in her seat from the meeting with the Dornish, seeming not to have moved since. A cup of something had been placed on a table in front of her, as well as a number of small morsels. These, despite their recent appearance, looked also to not have been touched, decoration instead of sustenance to the old woman.

"Yes, I did." She said simply, not wasting any time. "Sit." Lukas did so, balancing lightly on the only other chair present. He was expected on the deck of his ship soon, he didn't have time to get comfortable. The quiver strapped to his back didn't help matters either.

"You sail for Meereen soon, do you not?" Olenna asked, waving aside ant response before it had even a chance to emerge. "Don't bother answering, I already know that you do. Well, once you take to the water, you must make all haste to reach the Queen. It will do you no good to dawdle. It would reflect badly on us as an ally, as well as give Cersei more time to learn of our movements." Lukas only nodded at this, his body operating by itself. He knew all of this already, and he recognised that his grandmother had another, more important point she wished to make, hidden behind the almost gossip-like talk she used to mask her true intent.

"When you arrive in Meereen, I need you to do everything you can to ingratiate yourself with the Targaryen." Olenna's voice had lost its slight sarcastic edge, hr entire manner turning deadly serious. "Show her how loyal an ally she has in House Tyrell, and try to make yourself stand out. Once this war is over, our Queen will need a strong husband to continue her dynasty. We can at least ensure that you will count as a possible choice for this."

While his face remained stoic, Lukas couldn't help the groan that resounded inside his head. As Lord of Highgarden, marriage was a part of his duty to his House, albeit one he had hoped to set aside for as long as possible. He had lain with women before, an unavoidable result of wandering the Free City of Lys for too long, but marriage was a completely new area. One he had hoped to avoid through his learning and lack of priority as a son, but now it seemed he had no choice. And true, a marriage to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would be a colossal boon to the Tyrells for generations to come. Lukas' mind, however, could only remember the last time a Tyrell had been involved with a Royal Wedding.

Lady Olenna, unsurprisingly, could see exactly what her grandson was thinking. "Marrying your sister to those Lions was perhaps the worst mistake I have ever made." The words were heavy on her lips, and Lukas could see the slight shine of tears in the corner of her eyes. "But this isn't about power. It's about survival. Despite what I said, House Tyrell is one of the most powerful Houses in existence, and I'll die before I allow it to be stamped out by a bunch of overgrown kittens." Lukas snorted at that, the seriousness of the situation giving way to mirth at the description of the current monarch. Even Olenna's mouth twitched slightly, although more at the laughter coming from her last remaining family member. A sound she had not heard in a long time.

"I will do my best, grandmother." Lukas assured the old woman, rising from his seat and straightening his jerkin. "And I wish you good fortune on your end of events. If fate is kind, we will have a nice collection of lion pelts before long." And with that, he turned away, whistling the _Rains of Castamere_ as he retreated back along the paths and hallways, down to the docks.

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Lukas' eyes slowly opened as he heard footsteps move across the wooden deck to stop next to him, and he turned to face the new figure.

"Lord Varys." He said in greeting, nodding to the plump man with respect. The Spider did likewise.

"I am no lord, Lord Tyrell, only a humble servant." He acknowledged, bowing low as he did so. Lukas chuckled.

"You deserve the title far more than most who possess it." He said, meaning every word he said. Most nobles would never do so much for their monarch as this man had, a fact Lukas felt earned the man respect.

"You flatter me, my lord." The bald man said, customary smile in place on his features.

"Please, call me Lukas." The young rose insisted, leaning back against the rail as he faced his companion. "Was there something you needed?" Despite his time escaping the boring customs of court in his youth, Lukas was more than aware of all its intricacies. You never approached someone if they didn't have something you wanted.

"Only a wish to thank you." Varys said cryptically, causing Lukas' eyebrow to twitch upwards. "Your assistance, and that of the Reach, will be of immense help to our Queen." The Spider explained. "With our numbers, perhaps the coming turmoil will be less bloody than it otherwise would be."

"From what I've seen, war is always bloody." Lukas said plainly. "But you're right, it might be quicker. And you have no need to thank me." He noticed Varys' expression and fought to suppress his mirth. Most other lords would be sucking down this flattery faster than wine. "Like you, I want peace for Westeros. If this dragon of yours can bring it about, I'll follow her to the end of the world."

"I thank you for your commitment." Varys said, with something in his voice telling Lukas that he had just made a very powerful ally. "And I'm sure our Queen will do the same. But for now, I think I will go below deck." Before Varys could turn away, however, Lukas gripped his elbow, eyes still looking out across the water.

"I do have one small favour." He said gently. "I ask that you keep me informed on events in King's Landing." Anything he could learn from the enemy camp would prove useful.

"I will do my best, my lord Lukas." Varys promised. "But, I fear that many of my little birds there may not sing for me now."

"If you need any aid, I have a few contacts you could use." Lukas offered. It helped to have people active in most places he went. Never knew when it might prove handy. "Until then, enjoy the voyage." Releasing the man, Lukas turned his attention back to the sea, listening as Varys' footsteps fell away once more. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to savour the taste of the air. If he was going to be stuck onboard the ship for long, he might as well enjoy all it could offer.

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The sun, which had been directly overhead when the fleet had set sail, was finally beginning to sink over the horizon, long beams dancing across the water as if it were liquid gold. Lukas had remained on the deck of the ship throughout the day, staring across the ocean and nearby ships, merely enjoying the fell of the air on his face and in his hair. There was much he had to do before arriving in Meereen, before he stood before the Mother of Dragons. Words to learn, history to refresh in his mind, battle plans and tactics to formulate. But, all had been chased from his mind, replaced with a determination to enjoy the quiet. Once the war began, he doubted that such an opportunity would present itself again for a long time.

Lukas finally moved away from the railing, weaving his lithe frame between the sailors as he headed to his cabin. Sending a brief nod to the captain, stood at the helm, he ducked through the doorway that led into the belly of the ship. He would have to check with the man about the course they would be taking, a detail that had managed to evade his thoughts. Still, there would be plenty of time for that, as they wouldn't even be halfway across the Narrow Sea for another day or so. Time enough to make any alterations to their route. Filing away the thought for the time being, Lukas pushed open the door to his cabin, closing the thick wooden barricade behind him.

The ship he was on had been a gift for his twentieth nameday, and as such came fitted with a residence for him. Something Lukas was all too glad about. He may have liked sailing, but sleeping amongst the sailors, their stench more specifically, was something he could live without. The cabin itself was simple enough. It was largely taken over by the oak desk that was secured in the near the back of it, filled with paper, writing utensils and anything else Lukas might need. A bed was tucked away in the far corner, with a curtain hung up around it to allow for some measure of privacy, while a number of small shelves were dotted around the remaining wall space, holding a sample of Lukas' personal library. The place, while small, had a comfortable nature to it, with the young Lord frequently using it for his travels. Small, welcoming and crammed full of knowledge. It fitted Lukas perfectly.

The cabin's occupant, however, didn't spare a moment to take in the surroundings, instead working off his jerkin and shirt as he moved towards the bed. Between the meeting with the Martells, the readying of the fleet and the beginning of the voyage itself, Lukas had not been granted a single opportunity for rest. Something he was very keen remedy. Kicking off the rest of his clothing, he clambered into the bed, pulling the think sheet over his body and blowing out the nearby lantern, plunging the room into shadows. As the ship creaked gently, the slowly vanishing sunlight dancing against the far wall as the vessel rocked from side to side, Lukas did his best to sleep, eyes pressed closed and breathing deeply as he surrendered to the comforting embrace of night, everything falling away until he sank into the darkness. As darkness that, it turned out, would not last for long.

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Lukas awoke suddenly, the blanket of unconsciousness ripped from him with the speed and viciousness of a wolf. Darkness still reigned in the cabin, with the faint moonlight through the curtain showing the young Lord how the night had only been master for a few hours. Confused as to what had woken him, Lukas froze as he heard the faint, very faint, sound of the cabin door closing, the quiet thud as loud as a war drum in his ears. Keeping his body still, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before looking around, the room barely visible on the other side of the curtain. Despite this, something was certainly moving, the shifting shadow giving away the intruder. Someone had snuck into his cabin, and was moving towards him, vey slowly. Instead of moving to engage, Lukas chose to remain still, focusing on keeping his breathing deep and regular, as if he were still asleep. The shadow moved closer, stood almost right beside the bed, and he took a second to take in the silhouette. They were short, whoever they were, and thin to boot, the shadow looking as thin as a willow. He could only assume that it was one of the boys at work aboard the ship, maybe sent by the Lannisters to kill him. Lukas allowed himself a slight shift, passed off as restless sleep, his hand slipping under the pillow to lightly grasp the dagger he had placed there. As the shadow reached out to pull the curtain aside, he closed his eyes, counting down slowly in his head.

Through the slits of his eyelids, Lukas saw the curtain be pulled away fully, with the small figure beginning to reach down towards him. Quick as a flash, his hand lashed up from beneath the pillow, slamming the hilt of the knife into the side of the figure's head. Taking advantage of his adversary's confusion, he wrapped his other hand around their arm, yanking them down onto the bed as he slipped to straddle them. The thinness of the arm took him by surprise, as did the strange aroma coming from the figure, a blend of spices that tickled his nose. The figure struggled for a few more seconds, wrapping their legs around Lukas' waist, before he managed to press his knife to their throat. The sharpened steel put a stop to their movements, although, since the slender legs were still around his body, he wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing. Anyway, he had the advantage now, that was all that mattered.

"Who are you?" he hissed, voice still deep from slumber. He couldn't quite make out any features in the gloom, aside from a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

"Whoever you want me to be." Came the sultry reply from below him, causing Lukas to straighten up slightly. He hadn't been expecting _that_. Just at that moment, moonlight spilled in through the windows, casting light on the figure, and he was able to get a good look for once. A woman, about his age if not a touch older, with long black hair and brown eyes. Her curvaceous form was wrapped up in Dornish garb, and a whip was secured on a belt at her hip. Even through his sleep-addled brain, Lukas could piece together where he had seen her before, standing across from him at the meeting which had spelled out the future of House Tyrell and Westeros itself.

"Nymeria Sand." He grunted, pulling the dagger away from her throat, only to slam it forcefully into the wood above her head. The action shocked the Sand Snake into loosening her legs, which Lukas took full advantage of, hauling himself off the bed to look down at her from a standing position. He was glad he'd kept his breeches on when he'd disrobed, since the brief scuffle had resulted in a certain amount of friction against a rather… responsive part of his anatomy. Pushing the thought from his mind, alongside the rather suggestive smile that had managed to stay on the Dornish girl's face, he schooled his features into a look of cold annoyance. "And why exactly are you aboard my ship?"

Nymeria stretched out on the bed. "To fuck your brains out, my Lord." She purred, eyes alight with lust and boring into Lukas'. It took every last scrap of self-control he had to keep himself still, his cold mask only growing in intensity to conceal the straining nerves underneath it. Seeing her words had no effect, Nymeria let out a huff of annoyance. "I was ordered to come as the Dornish emissary to the Queen." She finally revealed with a touch of irritation. "Like you come for the Reach."

"Very well." Lukas acknowledged. It made sense, he supposed, to ensure that Dorne would have the Dragon's attention from the start. "But that doesn't explain why you would sneak aboard my ship and break into my cabin, instead of, I don't know, _telling me_ you'd be coming and boarding in the open." Despite the adrenaline that the encounter had initially supplied, Lukas was exhausted, with the Sand Snakes' presence only serving to signal the beginning of a very painful headache. Nymeria, as if sensing this hidden agitation, only smiled.

"And where would be the fun in that?" she asked, rising off the bed and moving towards him. "This way, I get to see you in action. Far more exciting, no?" Her voice had a playful quality to it, although Lukas' mind was far too sleep-deprived to care. Instead of rising to her, the young man shook his head, partly to end the conversation and partly to chase away the dark spots in the corners of his vision.

"I'm far too tired to deal with this right now." He stated, his voice turning into a sigh as he moved past the Dornishwoman, pulling the knife out of the headboard before sinking back down onto the bed. "Let me sleep in peace, and we'll continue this in the morning." He didn't even bother to close the curtain, instead just pulling the blanket over his body and pressing his face to the pillow. Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he felt warm breath on his cheek, accompanied by the same spicy fragrance.

"Of course. Sleep well, my Lord." Nymeria whispered in his ear, voice lingering on the final word, before she moved away, her footsteps receding and the cabin door opening and closing softly once again. And Lukas was alone, trying to salvage what he could of his rest and silently cursing the woman who had made his task nearly impossible.

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After many long hours, the first rays of dawn began to make their way over the horizon, reaching tentatively into Lukas' cabin through the high windows. The man himself was seated at his desk, hunched over a heavy tome about Aegon's Conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. After Nymeria had left the night before, he had tried to get back to sleep, but found such a task unachievable. Whatever the Dornishwoman had worn, it had soaked into the bed, and Lukas' nostrils had been filled with spice as he'd tossed and turned in vain. Finally, he'd given up, forgoing sleep in favour of pouring over his books. Dark rings had formed under his eyes, and he made a point of taking something to help him rest in the future. Milk of the Poppy or Essence of Nightshade, either would work. As the heat of the sun's rays began to warm his back, Lukas finally rose from his position, stretching out each limb to remove the cramp that had built up, and began to prepare for the day. After dressing in a dark green shirt and black vest, the young Lord left his cabin, mind focused on matters that needed to be addressed.

Despite the early hour, the deck swarmed with men at work, coaxing the ship onwards through the waves. The captain stood at the helm, his grey hair blowing in the wind, and Lukas quickly approached the man. He still needed to check their course, something he could not afford to forget.

"Captain." He called as he approached. The man himself turned at the word, taking in the new figure for a fraction of a second. Despite age wearing down on him, the Captain was still a strong man, seemingly born to command a ship. He had been among the ship's original crew, and had come to serve Lukas loyally, more so than nearly any other.

"Milord." He grunted out, gravelly voice straining slightly as he spoke in such a quiet manner. He was more used to bellowing at men from across the wood, or making himself heard in the middle of a storm, with the low volume scratching at his throat.

"I wanted to speak with you about the course we're to take." Lukas said, stopping at the old sailor's side. "I fear that I failed to do so yesterday."

"No worries, milord." The Captain said, as he pulled a rolled-up map from out of his long coat. Unfurling the weather-beaten parchment out on the deck's railing, he bent over it slightly, hand resting with a finger close to Dorne. "We're to head for Lys, before striking out into the Summer Sea." His finger traced the path. "From there, it's only a quick turn into Slaver's Bay and Meereen." His finger tapped against their destination as he finished. Lukas said nothing, eyes rolling over their intended course from start to finish.

"If I might make a suggestion," he said finally, finger reaching out to press against the map, "I believe that _this_ may be a better course." He traced the alteration, his finger slightly closer to land than the Captain's had been previously.

"But that takes us through Valyria!" The Captain spluttered, shock clear on his face and in his voice. "Why in Seven Hells would ye wish to enter that accursed land?"

"Because we don't have a choice." Lukas replied, voice firm and providing no room for argument. "Every second we're away from Westeros is a second that the Lannisters can and will use against us. The sooner we can reach Meereen, the better." Seeing the Captain's pale face, his voice softened. "I don't like it any more than you do, my friend," he assured the old man. "but it's a risk worth taking, and besides, we won't be anywhere near land. The fog is the only threat we'll face." After several long moments, the Captain nodded, albeit with a trace of reluctance.

"Aye, I see yer point, Milord." He agreed, voice shaky. "I'll have word sent to the other ships." Lukas clapped him on the shoulder, partly as thanks but mainly as reassurance, before moving away, his eye catching on the two newest figures to appear.

The bald spymaster was making his way up to the top deck, hands invisible under the sleeves of his robe. Next to him walked the much shorter frame of Nymeria, still dressed in her Dornish garb. Lukas noted, with some irritation, the woollen cloak she had around her shoulders, one which had, until recently, been sitting in the chest in his cabin.

"My lord, my lady." He nodded in greeting, a formality as opposed to anything else. Varys nodded in response, whereas Nymeria only let out a light laugh.

"I am no one's lady, Lord Rose." She contradicted, her tongue rolling over her new name for Lukas. Ignoring the Dornish bastard, specifically the way her eyes rolled over him, Lukas turned to the eunuch.

"I was hoping you might oblige me a small favour."

"Of course, my Lord." Varys agreed, his tone more befitting a meeting of the Small Council than the deck of a ship.

"I wonder if you'd mind telling me some more about Daenerys Targaryen." Lukas requested. "I'm afraid that I don't know much of anything about her."

"I'm afraid that this topic is rather a complex one." Varys explained, his voice making the whole subject sound mysterious. "Is there any aspect in particular you would like to know?"

"What kind of a ruler is she?" Lukas asked bluntly, throwing aside flowery vocabulary in favour of the facts. Varys' eyes seemed to show approval at the short statement, although he may just have imagined it.

"The kind that Westeros sorely needs." The ex-Master of Whispers began. "Strong and determined, with compassion in abundance. She is firm when she needs to be, and caring where she can be. Unlike some rulers before her, she listens to council, but is equally capable of keeping her own. Add to this her love for the people, and you have the first ruler that might actually be worth the name since Jaeherys the Conciliator." Lukas was silent, merely absorbing the information. Varys' description did indeed fit that of a worthy monarch, and one the Tyrell could easily see himself following. However, doubt still lingered in his mind. She was still a Targaryen, and he had yet to see which side of the coin she would fall on. Not to mention, her description helped to remind him of Margaery. Both strong, both determined, and both loving of their people. And where had that gotten his sister? Shaking the dark thoughts away, he turned back to Varys, the man looking to have understood his inner turmoil better than he himself had.

"That is quite the image, my friend. Let's hope she is worthy of your dedication." Looking out at the water, Lukas' mind quickly ran through everything else that needed his attention before they reached the Queen. "I might need to pick your mind again in the future, if I may?" Receiving another nod in response, Lukas continued. "Well, until then, I'm afraid I have a great deal of work to do." He quickly moved away from the pair and headed back to his cabin, the feeling of Nymeria's eyes on him an ever-present sensation.

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Days passed, slowly turning into weeks, with the Dornish and Reach fleet growing closer and closer to their new Queen. They had passed Lys nearly four days ago, stopping for a day to take on fresh food and water, and were nearing the ever-present mist that marked the border of the Ruins of Valyria. There was not a man aboard any ship that did not feel a sense of trepidation and dread at the wall of smoke, but still they went on. Partly because of their trust in their Captains, partly due to the aura of calm that emanated from their flagship and the young Tyrell aboard it. But, among the common sailors, it was mostly the desire not to make the Reach look weak in front of the Dornish, and vice versa. Whatever reason each man possessed, they sailed on, with the air slowly growing thick with the centuries old fog that now engulfed the remnants of the world's greatest civilisation.

As day had followed day, Lukas had managed to fall into something of a routine aboard his ship. His time consisted of reading, training and planning. He had been able to set up a number of small targets around the deck and the mast, none in any position that could prove dangerous to the men clambering and rushing about. With his dragonbone bow, he had loosed dozens, if not hundreds, of arrows into each one, until the wood had worn through and he could hit each with his eyes closed. From an early age, he'd been skilled with a bow, the same way his brother had been born to wield a sword, and had spent days honing his sight and hand. Such dedication had turned him into one of the greatest shots in the Seven Kingdoms and he wasn't going to let a prolonged sea voyage damage such a hard-earned reputation.

But for all the work his body endured, his mind took ten times as much. Nearly every day, he would go to Varys with a new question, about Daenerys, about their forces, even about the current situation in Westeros when they'd stopped at the Free City. While the bald Spider had been unable to answer every query, those he could helped to build up a picture in Lukas' mind, each new piece of information worth more to him than a chest of gold dragons. And, for everything he learned, for everything he was told, his mind would work to find some way it could benefit House Tyrell's new cause. While he had never seen a battle, Lukas had been trained to hone his mind by the likes of Randyll Tarly, while he time at the Citadel only added to his treasure trove of knowledge. Plans and strategies flowed from his brain like a waterfall, and he spent hours going over each and every one, judging their strengths and weaknesses before putting pen to paper to record those that made it through the vetting process. His desk was covered with paper, detailing different variables and battle plans, some so complex that not even Lukas himself could properly understand them.

Despite all that he had achieved, Lukas wasn't entirely sure how it had been possible, thanks to the presence of the Sand Snake aboard. Nymeria seemed to take great delight in interrupting and frustrating him, and always at the most inopportune moments. Her actions ranged from brushing up against him as they passed to a near endless collection of flirtatious looks. There had even been moments where she had 'accidentally' forgotten to properly secure her flowing clothing, with the flashes of flesh that such moments led to remaining stuck in Lukas' head for hours, seemingly burned there. And all this was without taking into consideration her nocturnal activities. Nearly every other night, she would arrive, uninvited, in his cabin, remaining just long enough to drive him to near distraction with her words and body, before vanishing once again, leaving a new, intoxicating fragrance in her wake that refused to leave. Lukas was glad for the sleeping potions he had managed to get his hands on, or else he doubted that he would ever have gotten any sleep over the past few weeks. Even rested, this behaviour was beginning to grind his nerves into powder, if it hadn't done so already.

He couldn't work out what the Dornishwoman was doing. He knew that the people of Dorne were far more… liberal than those in other areas of Westeros. Everybody knew that. Nymeria, as an, he had to admit it, incredibly beautiful woman must have been using him as a substitute while her Dornish lifestyle was unavailable. Lukas himself was far from unattractive, looking like a mix of both his brother and his sister, so the theory held some merit. Although, he couldn't recall seeing her try anything similar with anyone else among the crew... Looking out the cabin window, Lukas could see the sun begin to sink beneath the waves. Darkness would soon be upon them, and Nymeria hadn't visited his cabin for the past two nights. A plan slowly began to form in Lukas' head, a plan that would finally put an end to this frustrating nonsense.

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The room was in complete darkness. All the lamps had been blown out, with only a weak light coming from the moon, partially hidden behind the thick clouds. Lukas stood beside the door, dressed in dark clothing and at the heart of a large mass of shadows. Indeed, he was almost completely invisible to any who did not already know he was there. As the time slipped by, he remained still, patience seeming to freeze his body into a silent statue, waiting. And finally, his perseverance was payed off, with the soft patter of feet that were moving slowly towards his door.

The heavy wooded slab swung open a moment later, and in came the target of Lukas' frustration. His eyes had long ago adjusted to the darkness, and he could see her silhouette clearly, her darkness a shade darker than the rest of the night. As she moved across the room to the bed, heavy curtain firmly closed, Lukas followed, footsteps slow and soft as he crept up behind the Dornishwoman. He could see her pull the curtain aside, with the absence of her prey enough to draw a slight tilt of her head in confusion, before he pounced, arms lashing forward to grab her. Surprise was on his side, and Lukas soon had her pressed against the nearest wall, arms pinned against the wood. His legs also pressed against hers, keeping the woman still and the two barely a hands width apart. For the first time since he had first seen her, Lukas thought he saw a flash of panic in Nymeria's eyes, one that was quickly smothered.

"You have been a pain in my side ever since we set sail." Lukas whispered, his words displaying the barely concealed irritation that the Dornish bastard had roused in him. "Now, you've had your fun. And I want answers." His final statement came out as more of a growl, one that sent a shiver through the trapped woman. Whether out of fear or excitement, he didn't know, although the light grin on her lips suggested the latter. Lukas silently cursed the Dornish and the annoying results their culture had on its followers. Particularly their regard to intimidation.

"Did I do something to upset you, my Lord?" she asked, her voice possessing a poor imitation of child-like innocence. "It wasn't my intent."

"No, I think it was exactly your _intent_." Lukas shot back, pressing her harder into the wall. He could feel his self-control begin to slide away at Nymeria's actions, at her apparent lack of care.

"Ooh, so commanding." She almost giggled, as though they were just playing a game. "So dominant." She pushed her body forward as far as she could, chest stretching out while her hips began to grind against his. " _I like it._ " She whispered, staring deep into his eyes.

Lukas let out a growl now, his grip on her arms tightening as his entire body shook, control falling away at an ever-increasing pace. "No more games." His voice was deeper, filled with anger and annoyance. "Just tell me. What. Do. You. _Want_?"

"Why should I tell you," Nymeria _moaned_ , moving her head closer to his, "when I can show you." A second later, Lukas felt Nymeria's lips press heavily against his, tongue seeking entrance as waves of lust began to emanate off her. And, just like a twig under the weight of a Warhammer, his control snapped. He hauled her roughly forward, ripping her silken dress off as his body followed the commands the primal part of him sent out. And, as his shirt was torn from his body and the pair sank down to the bed, he finally understood what the Dornishwoman was playing at. He hadn't been far off, it seemed.

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Lukas swung his legs over the side of the bed frame, rising carefully so as not to disturb a sleeping Nymeria. Pulling himself up, he looked over the mess that had once been his cabin. Clothes, and scraps of clothes, were all over the place, with almost no surface free from ornamentation. The heavy desk had, incredibly, been shifted a few inches away from its original spot, and papers littered the floor, the remnants of what had once been so carefully set out on the hard oak. Sighing, Lukas reached for the nearest available shirt, pulling it over his head. He would worry about the chaos later.

Truthfully, even he wasn't entirely sure how it had happened. The first night, it had at least been confined, the bed taking most of the damage and the rest going to Lukas' own pounding head. He hadn't expected it to grow any further. A one-night occurrence, that was all. Nothing but a fluke.

And then came the next night… and the next night…. And the next…

Lukas couldn't for the life of him remember half of what the pair did. And the half he could was hazy at best. But what was more confusing was why he kept allowing it to happen. Nymeria was a beautiful girl, no doubt about it, and she possessed enough skills in the bed to put many a whore to shame. But she was also part of a group that had climbed to the top through murder, killing their own uncle and cousin as if it were nothing. Hells, they had killed an innocent girl as some petty form of revenge. Even with their recent alliance, he couldn't forgive that. Lukas had met the princess Myrcella once before, and that small interaction had shown her to be a nice, kind girl, one that didn't deserve the horrible fate that she had received.

Lukas shook his head roughly, dispelling the vile thoughts. Politics and history had nothing to do with it. He was at sea, there was little by way of entertainment, and he hadn't enjoyed a woman's company for a long time. It didn't matter. Slipping his feet into a pair of worn leather boots, he moved almost silently out the door, craving the salty air of the ocean, if only to escape the dizzying thoughts raised by the slumbering Dornishwoman.

As he rose up onto the deck, Lukas had to squint in order to see properly. The fleet had entered Valyria's fog days ago, and, even though they were miles from the ruined land, the air was still thick with the remains of what had destroyed the Freehold, so many years ago. Moving up to the Captain, he found his voice.

"How long until we are out of this stuff?" he asked, voice louder than usual in order for his words to reach the ear of the man. Every call between sailors had been turned into a shout, the deafening cries making long conversation, or any conversation at all, nearly impossible.

"Not long, milord." The Captain replied. "Another day or two, I believe."

Nodding in thanks, Lukas began to move away when the entire ship lurched, a deep thud ringing out. As he was thrown to the railing, the young Lord could see how they had bounced off a low sandbank, almost hidden in the water. As it was only a glancing blow, there was no need to make repairs, and the ship was ready to set off again, the only damage being to the pride of the men, some of whom had let out rather high-pitched screams in the moment of impact. As they began to pull away, Lukas' eyes rested on something, half-obscured. A lump sticking out of the sand, one that had no right being there.

"Stop the ship!" He cried out, before he even thought to consider the words. The order echoed along the hull, and the anchor was dropped, the entire vessel becoming stationary once again. Lukas was already halfway down the side of the ship, however, clambering down and landing in the soft sand. Slowly, testing the ground with each step, he approached the strange shape, growing clearer with every move closer. Finally, he stood over it, the details of the anomaly revealed to his shocked eyes.

Two skeletons were stretched out in the sand. One was much older looking than the others, bones starting to crack and decay, turning into dust long after the last of the flesh. A golden crown still rested on its head, the only adornment left after its clothing had rotted away. The second skeleton looked younger, the clothing it had on still relatively fresh, with some strands of muscle still clinging to the white lattice. Both figures had an arm wrapped around something else, buried in the sand. Being as careful as possible, Lukas tugged the item from the dead men's grasp, dragging it out of the packed sand. It was a sword, looking to be nearly four and a half feet long from point to pommel, somewhere between a bastard sword and a greatsword. The scabbard had hardened from exposure to sea salt, and Lukas, for all his strength, couldn't quite manage to draw the weapon. It was surprisingly light for its size, as though it were just a longsword.

However, it was the hilt that Lukas' eyes were drawn to. It had enough space for two hands, with a grip that suggested its wielder need only use one if they chose to. The leather that had once wrapped it had long since rotted away, although the pommel was still relatively intact. Golden, shaped vaguely like an animal's head. Lukas' mind began to race, and he examined the crossguard. More gold, the remnants of an eroded pattern, and writing just above the blade, still legible after all this time.

' _Hear Me Roar.'_

No, it couldn't be…

Eyes wide, Lukas began to once again pull at the hilt, desperate to see whether or not he was right. After a long minute, something finally gave way, and the sword flew from its scabbard with a ring of steel that sounded like it had been forged yesterday. Without its casing, the blade was even lighter, with Lukas able to hold it easily with one hand. The metal was dark, a smoky steel that seemed to ripple with each movement. Only one material in the world was capable of such an effect, and Lukas could barely contain his child-like amazement.

After so many years, Brightroar had been found.

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As the fleet began to emerge from the fog, sailors let out cries of delight, happy to be free of the paranoia and fear that Old Valyria still managed to inspire. Lukas didn't hear any of it, though. From his seat on the top deck, he worked within his own world, carefully wrapping fresh leather around the hilt of his most recent prize. The sword had almost consumed him in his efforts to return it to its former glory, and could see why the more recent Lannisters had wanted it back or replaced so badly. It truly was a prize worthy of the Gods.

Once Lukas had gotten over his initial shock of locating the legendary weapon, he had brought it back aboard the ship, sliding it back into its scabbard with no small deal of regret. Once aboard, he had ordered the men to collect the remains of King Tommen II and Gerion Lannister, overseeing the careful transportation of the skeletons into padded crates. The least these men deserved was a proper burial. Afterwards, he had retreated to his cabin, to properly examine the sword. The blade was still sharp, a fat proven when he'd nearly sliced his own finger off running it along the metal. There was no doubt that it was Brightroar, and with that came a multitude of thoughts. The main one of these was of restoring the weapon to its original state, preparing it as a gift of sorts. Varys had informed Lukas of Tyrion Lannister's position as the Queen's advisor, and this would be the perfect way to ingratiate himself, gaining favour with the Queen's inner circle and boosting the prestige of House Tyrell in their eyes while doing so. Lukas had also been a good friend of Tyrion's, before Joffrey's death, and he saw this as a chance to become reacquainted, as well as apologise for his seeming abandonment of the witty dwarf. An act which had never sat well with him, and one he sought to make right before all else.

And so, he had worked, fixing what could be salvaged and replacing what could not. He had carefully repaired the dented pommel, chipped away at the salt, sand and coral on the blade's scabbard and peeled off the irreparable leather, sewing new pieces in their place. The result, while less than spectacular, had succeeded in returning some of the weapon's former glory. As he wrapped the last piece of soft leather around the grip, securing it tightly, Lukas heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching, and couldn't help but smile at the exotic fragrance that accompanied them.

"Have you finished?" Nymeria asked, a combination of boredom and excitement in her voice. While she had feigned a lack of curiosity for Lukas' work at the start, she had slowly given way to fascination, although more directed at the weapon itself as opposed to the Tyrell's restorative actions. The fact that an enemy of House Lannister had been the one to find their historical treasure had not been lost on her, causing no small amount of laughter at the thought of using the weapon against them.

 _"After all," she joked, "they won't know whether to push it away, or pull it towards them."_

"Just about." Lukas said, testing the newly placed grip. It sat in his hand like a glove, and the blade hissed as he slid it into its scabbard. Nymeria grabbed his arm once the sword was safely hidden, all but dragging him down to his cabin, or their cabin rather.

"Good." She crooned, pulling him through the door and closing it behind her. "Because I have an inch I think you could help me scratch."

Ever since they had begun, Lukas and Nymeria had shared the bed in his cabin, ending up curled together atop it every night. For the past few days, however, they had been using it for less carnal reasons, spending their nights talking as opposed to fucking. Whether this was due to Lukas' work or the end of their voyage being in sight was uncertain, but the pair had certainly used the time wisely, learning more about each other with every gentle rock of the ship. Where before Lukas had only seen the seductive murderer, now he saw a woman with loves, dreams and fears, one willing to do anything to protect those she cared about. In truth, the pair were not so different, both seeking an end to war and the return of a bountiful peace.

This time, however, as dainty hands began to unfasten his breeches, Lukas doubted that this would be one of their quieter evenings…

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 _He stood atop a massive wall of ice. Snow whipped against his face, so much so that he could barely see his hand held up before his eyes. Stumbling through the storm, the ground dropped away ahead of him, an almost bottomless drop looming ahead. Vines wrapped around his body, almost like armour, lowering him to the ground. Thorns dug into his back and arms while golden flowers seemed to caress his face. As his feet touched the snowy ground, the blizzard abated, revealing the sight ahead._

 _Two armies clashed, the battle spreading as far as the eye could see. No cries rang out, no shouts of strength or victory. Only the clash of steel, the thud of dead hitting the ground. Men fought on one side, holding strange blades of black rock. Something else fought against them. Looking like men, their skin was the colour of frost, their eyes a terrifying icy blue. All had gaping wounds, sword slashes, arrow holes, and yet none seemed bothered. The two sides seemed stuck in a stalemate. Black blades sliced through the ice men, turning them into piles of ice and frozen, rotted flesh. But when the men fell, they rose only seconds later, their eyes now the same icy blue as their foes. These walking corpses then turned to attack their previous allies, forced to fight their friends and brothers from beyond the grave._

 _A growl resonated through the air beside him. Around him had gathered a strange group. A massive white wolf, with eyes as red as blood. A pair of lions, one scarred and the other missing a paw. A snake, body coiled around a golden spear. All these and more had come together, and all began to move forwards, running at their cold foes. And he ran too, filled with a rush of adrenaline that only battle could provide._

 _Just before they reached their enemy, however, a great shadow passed overhead. A monstrosity, with wings, tail and three separate heads. As the dragon opened its mouths, he found himself frozen still, before a wave of white hot flames washed over him._

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Lukas sat up sharply, blanket falling off him as he fought for breath. His entire body was drenched in sweat, as cold as the frost that had filled his mind. The image, of all-consuming fire, remained burned into his head, and he could almost feel the flesh of his arms heat up, beginning to cook and melt under the obliterating flames.

A light grip on his arm caught his attention. Nymeria was sitting up beside him, hand on his bicep and eyes filled with concern.

"What is it?" she asked, voice filled with worry for the young man, along with the slightest trace of fear. Whatever had occurred in his dream had left its mark on his face. Before he could answer, however, there came a knock at his door.

"My lord? My lady?" Varys' voice sounded, calling for their presence. Lukas quickly clambered to the cabin floor.

"A moment." He called, voice sounding half strangled. Quickly, the two dressed, clothes flying between them as they tried to look vaguely presentable. Well, Lukas tried at any rate. Once done, he moved to the door, pulling it open. "Yes?"

"Apologies, my lord," Varys said, voice laced with a strong sense of urgency, "but we've arrived." The statement took a few seconds to fully register, before Lukas nodded.

"Thank you, my lord." He said. "We'll be on deck presently." Varys nodded, moving away.

Lukas turned to Nymeria, who was securing her hair with a piece of orange ribbon.

"Shall we, my lady?" he asked, holding the door open. A light smile played across both their faces.

"Certainly, my lord." Nymeria replied, sauntering out the door with her familiar swaying hips. Lukas considered picking up Brightroar, but decided against it. It would be a mistake to bring a weapon to a potentially volatile meeting. Instead, he merely secured his jerkin before following, closing the wooden door and chasing away the haunting memories of his dream.

The sun was at its zenith when Lukas made his way to the prow of the ship, moving to stand between his two newest allies in the coming fight. The light sparkled off the water, the bay turned into an ocean of sapphire and rippling diamond. Ahead of them, bobbing in the port, hundreds of ships were at anchor, waiting like some great horde to swarm over the world. Lukas could just about see the men clambering all over the wooden hulls, at work on the figureheads and masts. The red dragon of House Targaryen could be seen wherever the eye settled, and there was no doubt in Lukas' mind as to the nature of this armada. Above the water, sticking into the sky like a knife, there stood a great pyramid, towering above the world like the throne of a god, with a huge black and red banner hanging from its peak. With a quick look to his two companions, Lukas set his shoulders and steadied his heart.

They had arrived in Meereen. And there was work to be done.

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 **Here's the next chapter of the Rose's story. Hope you enjoy.**

 **For the foreseeable future, most of my attention is going to be focused on finishing my Mad Max story, alongside my sodding coursework, so it may be a few weeks before anything else is added. I've almost finished the next chapter for this, however, so there might be one more update before a stop.**

 **Whatever happens, I hope you enjoy. See ya later**

 **TimeFury1347**


	3. Chapter 3

As she stood on the balcony, staring out at the fleet of ships that had begun to anchor just outside the port, Daenerys Targaryen couldn't help the twin feelings of elation and trepidation. Her invasion of Westeros would begin in the space of a week, and she couldn't decide whether to be excited at the prospect, or terrified. Excited at the thought of returning home, of finally gaining what was rightfully hers. Or terrified at the unknown land she would be sailing for, the bloodshed and death that was inevitable, and the instability that would be waiting to follow.

Growing up, there had never been much certainty in her life. Daenerys had spent much of her childhood moving from place to place, being passed between benefactors and always only a few steps ahead of the whatever assassin or cutthroat had been sent after her by the Usurper. Never knowing a true home, being forced to always be a guest to others, had left her with a burning desire for somewhere to belong, somewhere she could stay. Viserys had always talked with such passion about Westeros, about the Iron Throne, but it had never sounded right to her ears, her brother's madness serving to taint it for her. Drogo's Khalasar had begun to give her a place to belong, but that had been taken from her, just as everywhere else had. And from there, it was just one long road, with only the vaguest goal to strive towards. Westeros had been the home of the Targaryen dynasty for nearly three hundred years. What better place to settle, than in the land her ancestors had built. And so, she had travelled, with that one goal in mind. Return to Westeros. Return home. And even that had begun to fade.

Meereen had almost halted her journey. Living under the tyranny of Viserys had made Daenerys sympathetic to those oppressed, and so Slaver's Bay had been too much to simply pass by. The barbaric practises of the 'Wise Masters' had set Daenerys' blood boiling, and she had sworn to free all from their bondage. She had thought that Meereen would be a foothold, a place where she could learn the art of ruling while still helping the enslaved grow free. But it had been nothing but a mirage, a beautiful dream that hid only horrors. Her search for a home had almost cost her everything, her inexperience as a Queen bringing down calamity on her head. So much death, so many lost. Ser Barristan, the innocents killed by the Sons of the Harpy. Her journey had come so close to a bloody and inglorious end, before it had even begun.

But no more. She would allow no more distractions. The Dothraki had been united behind her, a Khalasar of one hundred thousand, ready to follow her across the 'poison water'. The Unsullied, the elite force of just under eight thousand, loyal to her until the day they died. Their time in Meereen had done little to damage their numbers, with only about two hundred of their original number dead throughout her time in the East. And now, three of the Seven Kingdoms had declared for her, bringing her army up to well over double its size. Even the loss of the Second Sons, who would remain to watch over Meereen, couldn't affect this, and Daenerys felt as if she had just been drenched in freezing water. It was real. It was happening. Her dream was growing closer with every second, and soon she would be able to reach out and grab it in both hands. She was finally going home.

The sound of the door opening behind her caught her attention, and she turned to see Tyrion Lannister walk in, the silver badge shining proudly on his chest. Daenerys had named Tyrion her Hand only hours ago, and it was clear that he was still reeling from the announcement. She could already feel that it had been a wise decision, as the dwarf had done nothing but give her sound advice from the moment she had met him, even succeeding in pulling Meereen away from total destruction during her absence.

"Your Grace," he began, nodding to her in respect, "I though you should know that Varys will be returning soon, along with the Tyrell-Martell representatives." Daenerys, looking down into the port, could just about see the small rowboat making its way from the largest ship towards the city, presumably carrying her allies.

Varys' loyalty to her had certainly been a surprise to discover, and she had even thought it a trick before Tyrion had assured her of his authenticity. Deep down, she knew that it shouldn't have been such a shock. The spymaster had, after all, been the one in charge of sending various killers after her, with nearly two decades of failure not suiting the Spider's reputation. His help would certainly be appreciated, with the intelligence he could gather having the possibility of turning the tide in the war to come. The representatives, while less known to her, could also help, with their pledges of loyalty guaranteeing their support to her cause.

"Thank you." Daenerys said simply, her statement filled with gratitude. Tyrion only nodded again, and stepped aside as the Targaryen moved through the doorway, beginning the short trek to the Throne Room. Falling into step behind her, the odd pair were silent during the walk, emerging into the large chamber where Missandei and Grey Worm were already waiting, along with a selection of Unsullied and Dothraki guards. Ascending the steps to her seat, Daenerys sat, with Tyrion to her left and Missandei to her right. The hall was silent for a long minute, with all present preparing themselves for what was to come. Eventually, Daenerys turned to Tyrion.

"While we wait, can you tell me about our guests?" She asked her Hand. "I don't want to go into our talks without knowing something of them."

"While I know nothing on the Martell front," Tyrion began slowly, Varys' message of her having been very recent, "I believe that there is nothing to fear from the Tyrells." At Daenerys' look, her continued. "Lukas Tyrell is perhaps one of the greatest minds in Westeros. He's a skilled tactician and a master at playing the Game, thanks to the Queen of Thorns." Pausing, Tyrion smiled, almost wistfully. "He's one of the few people I can call a friend. Believe me when I say that I have never met a finer man in all my life. Loyal, kind and sharp, he's everything you could possibly need." Laughing to himself, Tyrion added, "The only real danger is in you trying to bring him to bed."

Daenerys' eyebrow crept up at that. "And why would that be?" she asked, curiosity getting mixed with amusement.

"That man is loved by the womenfolk for a reason." Tyrion explained, a strange glint appearing in his eye. "And that's not just due to his looks. Oh, the stories I could tell you…" he trailed off, mind falling back in remembrance to his old friend's escapades.

Before she could respond, the sound of footsteps drawing near caught Daenerys' attention, and she straightened, preparing herself for what was to come. The Unsullied escort came through the large doorway, followed firstly by Varys and then the two representatives. Daenerys took a second to examine the pair. The woman was clearly Dornish, her skin and features giving away her heritage. Dressed in silks that left little to the imagination, she was without a doubt beautiful, possessing an exotic beauty that would attract all who saw her. The Targaryen's eyes, however, were quickly drawn to the Tyrell. Looking to be about her own age, if not a year or two older, her was in possession of a lean body, the silk of his shirt and leather or his breeches doing nothing to hide his muscles. Curly brown hair hung over his face, and Daenerys could feel herself getting lost in his golden eyes. Alongside his handsome features, she had to admit that her Hand was right. He was hard to dismiss from her mind.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons." Missandei wasted no time in beginning, listing off the many titles that her Queen, and friend, had accumulated over her life. Daenerys was proud of every one of these, as they bore the story of her rise to power, from a scared little girl to the future Queen of Westeros.

"Lord Varys." She said after the titles had been recited. "It is good to see you again." The bald eunuch smiled and bowed slightly.

"The feeling is mutual, Your Grace." He responded. "Although, my absence has been nothing if not productive." Moving forward to stand on the first step, he turned to face the two other newcomers. "May I present to you Lord Lukas of House Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach. And Nymeria Sand of House Nymeros Martell of Dorne." Both figures bowed, and Daenerys couldn't help but be surprised. Despite the words of her Hand, she hadn't truly expected the Lord of the Reach to come himself. A quick glance to Tyrion told her how he was almost the opposite, clearly having expected the man to come himself from the beginning. "Both are here to pledge their loyalties to you, on behalf of their Kingdoms."

As the pair straightened up from their bow, Daenerys levelled her gaze on them, quickly schooling her features once more.

"Welcome my Lord, my Lady, to Meereen." She said, her eyes focused slightly more on the Tyrell. "I thank you both for coming."

"The pleasure is all ours, Your Grace." Lord Tyrell began, his voice rich and echoing around the room. "It is an honour to meet you at last. Although I must say, the tales of your beauty do not do you justice." The way he spoke made heat rush to her face, and Daenerys fought to suppress it. He said it as if it were a simple fact, as opposed to the sycophantic way others had complemented her in the past. She heard Tyrion snort softly beside her.

"It was a long journey, but well worth it in the end." Nymeria Sand chose that moment to enter the conversation. "Dorne is ready to follow you, to our last breaths."

"As is the Reach." Echoed Lukas. "Although it hopefully won't lead to our graves."

"Let's hope not." Tyrion agreed dryly. "There has been more than enough death recently."

While Lukas didn't answer, Daenerys could see something in his eyes, a hollowness in his very soul, that told her he agreed wholeheartedly with her Hand.

"I thank you both for your loyalty." She quickly stepped back in before silence could fall. "With your help, we can bring about a new age for Westeros. Together." Rising from her throne, Daenerys nodded to two of the Unsullied. "My men will show you to your chambers. You must be tired after such an arduous voyage."

"It wasn't without moments of exhaustion." Nymeria agreed, shooting a knowing smirk at Lukas, one that grew a mirror image on his lips. Daenerys decided not to pry into this private joke, and simply nodded to her soldiers, who escorted her new allies out of the hall. Without looking to her Hand, she also retreated to her chambers, her mind partially overshadowed by a pair of golden eyes.

Tyrion lingered a few moments longer, before following his Queen, chuckling all the way. That man still knew how to make an impression.

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Lukas pressed the stamp against the wax carefully, cautious to seal the letter as securely as he could. Addressed to his grandmother, it set out what he needed her to do to prepare in the Reach before his return. A few months ago, he wouldn't have dared to send such a latter, the idea of ordering the Queen of Thorns to do anything tantamount to suicide. But he was a Great Lord now, and he couldn't afford to delay what was needed simply because of a fearful reputation. Besides, unlike his father's Lordship, Lady Olenna had shown very little disapproval in his short time of leadership. Hopefully, she'd see his instructions as exactly what was needed for a successful invasion by the Targaryen Queen. The pair had already agreed on a number of requirements the old woman would see to while he was in the East, but, in the light of his recent work, Lukas knew that more had to be done before he returned.

Moving the sealed letter aside, Lukas reached for a new sheet of paper. It was already early evening, the sun beginning to set over the city of Meereen, and Lukas sat at a table set out for him on his balcony. Despite the heat, he had barely changed his clothes, only switching his leather breeches for a pair made of a lighter material. As the sun glittered on the water in the bay, Lukas allowed himself a moment of appreciation for the sight. Meereen, despite its history of violence and enslavement, was still a beautiful place when nature worked its magic. Turning his attention back to his desk, he began to write.

 _To the Lords and Ladies of the Reach._

 _I am sure all of you have heard of the events in King's Landing. If you have not, allow me to inform you. During the trial of Ser Loras Tyrell, a large amount of Wildfire was ignited beneath the Sept of Baelor, which destroyed the building, along with hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent men and women, including the majority of my own family. Following this, and the subsequent death of King Tommen, Cersei Lannister was crowned as Queen._

 _I am here to inform you of some facts. Firstly, the caches of Wildfire were placed by the disgraced maester Qyburn, on the orders of Cersei herself. This murder of a number of resected Lords, including Queen Margaery, drove King Tommen to suicide. Cersei Lannister is nothing more than a murderer and an opportunist, stepping over the corpse of her son to gain power._

 _Due to this terrible act, I was forced to become Lord of the Reach, a title that should never have been mine. However, I cannot change the past, and so, in the interests of the Reach and to find justice for my family, I have sworn loyalty to the Last Dragon, Daenerys Targaryen. She will soon invade Westeros and take the Iron Throne, destroying the Lannisters and any who stand in her path._

 _I tell you this not as a means to frighten you, but to request your help. The Reach must be ready for war once the Dragon Queen lands. I ask that every House of the Reach sworn to House Tyrell prepare your forces, ready for battle. We shall gather at Highgarden once I return and be ready to serve the Queen. The forces of the Reach are the strongest in all of Westeros, which should help to bring about a speedy end to the coming war._

 _I know that many of you will not want to serve the Dragon, or will see myself as a traitor for doing so. But now is not the time for fractures. We must be united if we hope to survive. The Targaryens of old possessed their monsters, certainly, but they also made Westeros into the land it is today, through strong leadership. This unity, that has lasted for nearly three hundred years, has been destroyed by the Lion Queen. Who would you rather follow, those who build or those who destroy?_

 _And if none of these sways you, I ask only that you trust in me. The Reach is my home, and I will do anything in my power to keep it safe. All my life, I have sought to earn your trust, a trust that I hold sacred above all else. If I may only ask one thing of you all for the rest of my life, it is that you trust me now. The Tyrells have served the Reach faithfully for thousands of years. Remember this now, before you rush to join the two-faced Queen._

 _Your humble servant_

 _Lukas Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach._

Folding a sealing the letter, Lukas could only hope that it would work. He'd told his grandmother to have it copied and sent to every House in the Reach. The combination of hatred for the Lannisters, memories of Targaryen peace and his own reputation should be enough to convince each Lord. Lukas had spent his adolescence touring the Reach, gaining a connection to each family, ensuring that they saw him as someone to be trusted. There would undoubtedly be a few who would not be persuaded, the Florents in particular, but once he returned to Westeros, the forces of the Reach should be ready to follow him.

It took only a few minutes for Lukas to find a guard to pass the letters on to Varys, with a stress on the importance of their successful delivery. Returning to his chambers, the sun had finally set, and he began the long process of lighting candles. Once complete, he was more than ready to enjoy an evening of wine and reading. Indeed, his hand was brushing the pitcher when there came a knock at his door.

"Enter." He called over his shoulder, pouring a goblet full of wine for himself.

"Pour one for me, would you?" Came the voice of his guest behind him, and Lukas grinned, hand already on a second chalice.

"Certainly, Little Lord." He replied as he did so, turning with both goblets to see Tyrion Lannister stood in the middle of the room. Moving to pass the wine to the dwarf, Lukas took a seat at the desk. "What can I do for you, my friend?"

Tyrion didn't answer for a moment, too involved with draining his wine. Lowering his goblet, he looked up at the young Tyrell. "Do I need an excuse to see my friends?" He asked, voice alight with his ever-present wit.

"No, you do not." Lukas replied, smile forming rapidly on his face. "It's been a long time."

"That it has." The Hand of the Queen agreed. "I haven't seen you since my trial for regicide." There was no malice in the words, no bitterness, but Lukas still looked down in shame.

"I wish that weren't the case." He said after several long moments. "My grandmother had me locked in my room for three days before your Trial by Combat. I wasn't even allowed out to watch." Placing his goblet on the desk, he looked directly at Tyrion. "I am so sorry that I wasn't there. I wanted to be, I truly did."

Tyrion just waved it aside. "Don't worry yourself about it. I don't blame you. Besides," he added, gesturing between the two of them, "look at us now. Loyal servants of the Dragon."

Silence descended over the room at that, both men taking the opportunity to finish their wine, with Tyrion refilling and drinking another glass in the time it took Lukas to finish his first. There was no awkwardness, however, merely a companionable mood as the two friends drank.

Lukas took the time to cast his mind back to his first meeting with the dwarf. Not long after the Battle of the Blackwater, when Tyrion was still recovering, he had arrived at the capital with his sister, and had promptly vanished into the library. After a few days, Tyrion, still weak, had managed to make the journey there, only to collapse three steps in. Lukas had carried him to a table, offered him some wine, and then returned to his book. Once Tyrion's strength had returned, he had begun asking about the nature of the book, with the pair eventually getting into a heated debate over the topic of dragons. And there, in that dusty old room, a strange friendship had been born.

 _'One I wouldn't change for the world.'_ Lukas thought. The pair matched each other perfectly, their quick wits and love of books instantly bringing them together. Even when Joffrey's death had left Tyrion marked for death, the pair had spent hours together, talking over a myriad of subjects to help distract the dwarf from what was to come. And now, after all that had happened, their bond was as strong as ever. Something Lukas was immensely grateful for.

"Now then, enough silence." Tyrion declared, draining the last few drops of wine and setting down his goblet. "I want to hear of your journey here. Varys mentioned you taking a rather unique route in getting to Meereen."

"You could say that." Lukas nodded, setting aside his own empty goblet. "I decided that it would be a good idea to pass through the Ruins of Valyria in order to arrive here faster." Seeing the look on Tyrion's face, he quickly continued. "Just skirting the edges, have no fear. I'm not ready to die just yet."

"I should hope so too." Tyrion responded, his face clearly showing what he thought of his friend's decision. "How you convinced the fleet to follow your madness is beyond me, but I suppose the point is moot now." Lukas opened his mouth to speak, but the Hand of the Queen beat him to it. "I also find myself curious as to this Dornish girl's presence with you. Is she only here to pledge for Dorne, or is there a different explanation?" The young Reachman couldn't stop his chuckles at the familiar light in the dwarf's eye.

"We have an understanding." The vague response prompted Tyrion to ask more, but Lukas held up a hand to stop him. "Are you going to keep asking questions, or can I just tell you of what you asked in the first place?" His eyes ruined any idea of irritation from his voice, and Tyrion merely nodded to him as an answer.

"Please, let your tale begin." He waved a hand through the air to emphasise his words, his other hand reaching for more wine.

And so, Lukas began to speak. About their crossing of the Narrow Sea, following the coast of Essos, the approach if the infamous fog and their entry into the shadows.

"I'm still not sure if I was scared or not." He paused at this point, casting his mind back to the moment of change. "I've heard of ships vanishing there, never to be seen again. But maybe it was excitement instead of fear." Lukas filled his goblet with wine at this point, drinking it all with a single swallow. "Whatever it was, it was partially repressed considering how badly I needed to piss."

He told Tyrion about the fog, so thick you could barely see five feet in front of you. About how the other ships had been barely visible, looking like ghosts in the smoke. And then, he reached the moment of their greatest discovery.

"A few days before we left Valyria, our ship was nearly grounded on a rogue sandbank. As the crew got the ship free, I spotted something half buried and went to have a look." Standing, Lukas moved to where Brightroar rested against a wall, still telling his story. "I found two skeletons, along with this." Grabbing the weapon by the scabbard, he held it grip first out to Tyrion, who approached with curiosity clear on his face. "I think you will recognise it."

Tyrion gripped the hilt, tugging the blade free. Slowly, with a wet hiss of metal against leather, it came away, light from the candles dancing across the dark metal. Despite the weapon's size, Tyrion was able to hold it up, albeit requiring two hands for the job. Eyes wide, at both the weight and metal of the blade, the dwarf's gaze fell to the crossguard, reading the inscription upside down. At this, his surprise became too much, and he lost his grip, the sword dropping to the stone with a loud clatter.

"That's…that's…" Tyrion stuttered, for once in his life lost for words. Lukas bent down, picking up the dropped weapon and sliding it back into its scabbard, requiring only one arm to heft the surprisingly light blade.

"Brightroar, the ancestral blade of House Lannister." He supplied. "The skeletons belonged to King Tommen of the Rock and your own uncle Gerion." Leaning the weapon back against the wall, the young lord quickly guided the speechless Hand back to a seat, pressing more wine into his shaking hands. "They're currently on my ship, waiting to be interred at Casterly Rock." Tyrion said nothing, only swallowing his wine like a man dying of thirst. It took him a few minutes to fully recover from the shock.

At last, he spoke. "Why would you do such a thing?" He asked, confusion knotting his brow. "After all my family has done to yours, I would have thought you'd want them destroyed."

"Your family had done terrible things, there's no doubt about that." Lukas agreed readily. "But you are my friend. I do this for you. Besides, I think the dead have earned their right to a decent rest." Leaning back, he grinned. "And can you imagine the look on Cersei's face when she finds out you have the lost sword your father spent years trying to replace?"

"I'll admit, that is an appealing thought." Tyrion agreed, chuckling at the imagined look of shock, horror and disgust on his sister's face. "But, I think it would be even sweeter for her to find it in the hands of the rival House. Especially one sworn to her enemy."

Lukas paused at that, staring down at his friend in confusion. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"Well, I can't wield the bloody thing, can I?" Tyrion quipped. "At least in your hands, it might be able to do some good in the war to come." Drawing himself up, Tyrion's face turned serious as he looked into the eyes of his friend.

"Until there is peace once more in Westeros, with Daenerys Targaryen seated on the Iron Throne, Brightroar belongs to you, my friend. Use it well."

Getting over his surprise, Lukas nodded slowly. "I will wield it with pride, my Lord Hand."

"I am sure you will." Tyrion placed his goblet on the table, rising from his seat. "Well, it has been a very long day, and I, for one, am eager for sleep." Moving to the door, he was about to leave before something occurred to him, something so simple he could have slapped himself for forgetting it. "I never said thank you." Tyrion said, turning back into the room. "For everything you have done."

Lukas could only smile at one of his closest friends. "And you'll never have to." He promised, standing up and stretching as he did so. "Goodnight, my Lord."

Nodding in response, Tyrion walked out into the passageway, his head spinning with the recent revelations. As he turned a corner, he could see the Dornish girl slip into Lukas' chambers, and he grinned, continuing towards his bed.

After all his friend had done for him, Tyrion reasoned, this was the least he deserved.

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The sunlight streaming in through the balcony doorway forced Lukas back into the land of the living, although he couldn't bring himself to move for several minutes, simply enjoying the warm rays dancing across his chest. Feeling a weight against his side, he looked down at the raven hair splayed out across him. Nymeria curled against his body, a light smile across her face as the light covered her, turning her skin golden in a transformation that seemed to come straight from the Heavens. Nonetheless, Lukas knew her to be just as dangerous now as she was when fully awake, a fact that he had come to love in his bedfellow. A true warrior woman down to her bones.

Careful not to rouse her, he slipped out of the bed, stretching his tired muscles as he stepped out onto the balcony, grabbing an apple from the tray, presumably placed by a servant while he slept. He was still tired, rubbing sleep from his eyes, although that was a fault of his own, in truth, as he looked back to the room he and Nymeria had decided to 'break in' the previous night. Letting the bright sun wake him fully, Lukas munched on his apple as he stared out across Meereen. The city was unlike any he had ever seen, modelled after the ancient Ghiscari Empire, and from his high position, he could look out over the lower buildings without the stench of shit filling his nostrils, something near impossible to escape in King's Landing. The sounds could still be heard, and Lukas simply listened to the everyday shouts and noises of a city waking up, ready to begin the day anew. It was a cacophony that celebrated peace and life, and one that he would never grow tired of.

The clang of steel drew his attention down, to where soldiers fought together in the training yard. From his height, they were little bigger than ants, and yet Lukas followed each sound of steel on steel, watching the movements of men preparing for battle. After a while, he turned, dropping the apple core in his hands to the table as he quietly dressed, choosing armour instead of silk. The leather had been custom made for him, black pieces decorated with gold and green. Designed to support his bow skills, it kept him fast while also supplying protection, the toughened material woven with steel across the more strategic portions. Securing it on himself, Lukas picked up his bow and quiver and made to leave, before pausing. With his favoured weapon in one hand, he used the other to lift Brightroar from the ground, before moving down to follow the ring of steel. If he was going to use the sword to fight in the future, he could at least learn how to swing the bloody things properly.

As he emerged at the base of the pyramid, Lukas couldn't help but be slightly amazed at the sheer variety of men training. Reachmen brushed shoulders with Dothraki, Dornishmen and Unsullied traded spear techniques. Even the Ironborn, unused to the location and complete difference from their Old Ways, managed to find a place, laughing and training with any and all who would welcome them. This melting pot of cultures and people had not been seen in a long time, and Lukas was glad that he was allowed to see it. This was what Daenerys Targaryen would bring to the Iron Throne, a rule where people could live side by side in peace, past disagreements forgotten in favour of a future of continued unity. Weaving his way through the throng, he made his way to the archery butts, greeting those who recognised him, as well as those who didn't, along the way.

It was mostly Dothraki and Ironborn standing by the targets, the two peoples out of all those gathered who had built up a reputation with the bow. While a number of Reachmen and Dornishmen were also sharpening their skills, the number gathered was still quite low, something Luka was thankful for. Setting Brightroar down to the side, he secured the quiver over his shoulder, twisting the bow's grip in his hand to the familiar position. Nocking and drawing an arrow, he let his ears block out distractions, with only the sound of his bowstring tightening remaining, the rasp of the arrow shaft against dragonbone as loud as his own heartbeat. Pausing for a second, he loosed, the arrow sailing through the air to drive itself into the centre ring of the target. Not waiting for a moment longer, he pulled another arrow from over his shoulder, letting his muscles fall into the dance he had practised almost his whole life.

He didn't know how long he was there, firing arrow after arrow into the targets. Every time his quiver was empty, he'd refill it, from the nearby stockpile or from the targets themselves. When he grew used to one target, he'd switch to another, alternating his height and position when he ran out. There was only the sun on his back, the slow growing ache in his muscles, and the unique _twang_ of his bow as it spat the deadly projectiles. Losing himself in training, however, was nothing new. Lukas couldn't count the number of times he had done so growing up, turning away from the world's troubles in favour of honing his skills with the weapon he seemed born to wield. It was soothing, it kept his body ready for anything, and most of all it was _his_. Out of everyone in his family, his skill was unique. And no-one could take that from him.

The sun was directly overhead now, glaring down at him with an unforgiving heat, as he refilled his quiver for what felt like the hundredth time. His arms were tired from the hours of near constant strain, but he ignored it. He'd gone longer without stopping before. He'd be fine. Turning back to resume his position, Lukas suddenly became aware of the small crowd watching him. He had no idea when they had gathered behind him, although it had to have been recent. He'd certainly have spotted them if it was more than a few minutes.

They were a curious mix, to say the least. In the centre were a handful of Dothraki, eyes alight with a look of respect, although it was primarily directed towards his bow. At the head was a man who towered over them all, muscles like coiled rope. An arakh was at his side, and his eyes, barely visible under his scraggly hair and beard, were staring at Lukas with a look of challenge and contempt. To one side of the horselords stood a number of Unsullied, faces blank as they watched him. Their leader lacked the typical armour, dressed instead in a black leather jerkin, and stood alongside the announcer Lukas recognised from the throne room the day before. And, on the other side, stood a collection of Ironborn warriors, sweltering under the hot sun. Their leaders were a thin, fidgety young man and a woman who looked born to stand at the helm of a ship, looking at him with an expression Lukas couldn't quite comprehend. And, further off to the side, was Nymeria, an amused look on her face as she twisted her whip back and forth in her hands.

After a few moments, where neither side said or did anything, the lead Dothraki spoke, a few guttural sounds that drew a laugh from his fellow riders. Lukas merely stood there, face a mask of ignorance. He knew what was said, however. As a youth, he had been fascinated by the Dothraki, and had done all he could to learn about them. Including teaching himself their language. And he knew exactly what the large man had said. A fact he kept to himself.

 _"Not bad, for a soft little flower."_

The announcer stepped forward at the not so veiled insult, drawing Lukas' attention. "Zhowo says that your skills are most impressive." She translated, and the young lord assumed that she normally acted as an interpreter for the Dragon Queen, although her polite way of translating the barbed remark told him that she'd dealt with this sort of thing a great deal, as she barely batted an eye. Lukas only smiled at her words.

"I appreciate the compliment….?" He replied, trailing off and waving a hand, as if fishing for a name. The interpreter smiled.

"Missandei, of Naath." She supplied, bowing slightly. She did have the look of one from the Summer Sea, and Lukas was glad to know his suspicion was close to correct.

"Well, Missandei of Naath," he began, pretending to taste her name on his tongue, "would you be so kind as to introduce these other fine people. I'm afraid I'm at something of a loss."

"Of course, my Lord." Missandei complied, quickly listing off the names of those gathered. Lukas paid particular attention to Grey Worm, the leader of the Unsullied, as well as Yara and Theon Greyjoy. The kraken sigil on their armour made them stand out from the rest.

"It is good to meet you all." Lukas spoke up, addressing them all. "If you wish to train, there is plenty of space." Despite his outward hospitality, he was silently begging them to leave. He liked his own space, and the quiet that came with it.

The Dothraki, Zhowo, only laughed at his statement. _"The little boy wants to be alone. Can't he stand the sight of real men?"_ He mocked, drawing more laughter from the horselords. Missandei looked uncomfortable as she opened her mouth to translate something as touch less crass, but Lukas beat her to it.

 _"This little boy will knock you on your arse if you don't shut up."_ He growled, anger bubbling up in his system. His patience was limited at the best of times, and this barbarian had pushed him past the edge in record time.

The Dothraki were clearly shocked at his words, surprised that an outsider knew their language so well. Zhowo merely looked annoyed, anger mixing with challenge in his dark eyes. _"You think you can beat me?"_ he asked, voice low as a hand dropped to his arakh.

Lukas merely grinned, lowering is bow to the ground and lifting Brightroar in its place. The blade was light, a benefit of Valyrian steel, and he gripped the hilt loosely. _"I know it."_ He cockily replied. His skill with a sword was above standard, at best, but his opponent didn't need to know that.

 _"We will see about that!"_ The Dothraki roared, blade in hand as he hurled himself at Lukas. He grinned as his sword met the curved blade, memories of spars with Loras flooding back to him. This was going to be fun.

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Daenerys sipped her wine as she reclined on the cushioned bench, staring out into the night sky. Dusk had fallen hours ago, and the sky was an inky black, decorated with a countless number of stars. They span across the sky, glittering like candles in the empty void. Often, she had tried to count them, as a way of escaping her role as Khaleesi or Queen, if only for a few precious hours. Darker shadows could just about be seen above the city and Daenerys knew it was her children, stretching their wings as they took to the air. However, unlike many nights before, she could not focus on their swirling paths. Her mind was focused instead on what she had witnessed earlier, or rather, on the young man whom she had summoned to her chambers.

Hours earlier, when the sun ruled the air and she could still hear the echoes of Meereen, Daenerys had, in a rare moment of peace, turned her attention to the training ground. This was both to examine the prowess of her forces for future battles, and also an attempt to alleviate her growing boredom. Her eye had been inexplicably drawn to the archery butts, where a figure in black armour was firing arrow after arrow into varying targets. She had seen a crowd gather around him, had seen a large Dothraki seem to insult him, the figure challenging him as the horselord's hand lowered to his blade. Once the figure had drawn his own, the blade much darker than that of the Dothraki, Daenerys had known who it was. Lukas Tyrell. She kept watching when the two began to fight, weapons almost invisible to her as they duelled. The greatsword seemed as agile as a longsword in the Tyrell's hand, and the dance had continued for almost half an hour, before both parties, seeming almost dead from exhaustion from the way they staggered, declared a draw. Before matters of the impending invasion had needed her attention once more, she had seen the Reach Lord talk with the Dothraki, both laughing at some private joke.

Having gained the details of the event from Missandei later on, Daenerys had decided to summon her newest ally, so as to talk with him. She knew next to nothing about the man, and, in truth, he fascinated her.

A knock at her chamber door snapped Daenerys back into the present.

"Enter." She called, subconsciously straightening her shoulders. The door swung open, revealing the man who had occupied her thoughts for most of the afternoon. His armour and weapons were gone, replaced with a silk shirt, breeches of a light material and a light smile as his eyes roamed around the room, coming to rest on her after a moment and growing in warmth.

"You called for me, Your Grace?" he inquired, hands held behind his back as he waited for her instructions.

"I did." Daenerys answered simply. She gestured to the bench opposite her, a goblet of wine waiting on a nearby table. "Please, sit." Lukas moved to do so, moving quickly across the chamber and relaxing on the cushioned surface. Daenerys waited patiently for him to get settled, using the time to take in his face. He looked calm, if a touch confused. His eyes, however, were sealed off to her, guarded like an impenetrable castle she could not enter.

"Was there something you needed, Your Grace?" The young man's voice brought her back to the present. His look was still warm, although the confusion as to why he was there was growing rapidly.

"I wanted to thank you." The Dragon Queen explained. "For your pledge of loyalty in taking the Iron Throne."

"You've already thanked me for that, Your Grace." Lukas replied, a small smirk working on his lips. "But there's really no need. House Tyrell has been loyal to your family for generations. I'm merely renewing our old friendship."

"Nevertheless," Daenerys insisted, "your help is more than appreciated." Taking a drink of her wine, she eyed the Tyrell carefully. "I heard about what happened to your family. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Nothing changed on the young man's features. His eyes, however, were filled with a burning rage, a fire that looked to burn hotter than the flames of a dragon. "I thank you for your sympathy, Your Grace. I promise you everything I have, and everything I am, if it will help see you topple that madwoman."

Daenerys could almost hear the anger and loss in his voice, and she smiled comfortingly, leaning forward to place a hand on his clenched, whitening fist. "I promise you, the Lannisters will fall for what they have done to us." The anger seemed to slowly ebb away, as the Tyrell's hand slowly uncurled, fire replaced by a warm gratitude as he seemed to take the Queen in. She leaned back, smile still present. "And call me Daenerys. If we're to work together, it's only right to use each other's names."

The Tyrell nodded. "I will endeavour to do so, Daenerys." He agreed. "But only if you will call me Lukas."

"I think I can do that." Daenerys promised, raising her goblet as she did so. "To the friendship of Houses Tyrell and Targaryen. Long may it last." Lukas raised his own wine in return.

"To friendship." He echoed. The pair drank in silence for several moments, their eyes never leaving each other as they toasted their alliance.

"I was surprised to see you come here, in truth." Daenerys remarked as they finished their wine. "I had assumed you would send someone else in your stead."

"Never trust another to do your speaking for you." Lukas said by way of explanation. "Besides, my grandmother insisted that I come personally." The air of mystery surrounding his reasoning intrigued her.

"Oh?" she asked. "And why is that?" Lukas leaned back in his seat before answering.

"A marriage between our two Houses would benefit the Tyrells greatly." He said bluntly. "I am supposed to make myself stand out as a potential suitor."

"Are you really?" A smile was beginning to grow across Daenerys' face. Probably due to the wine. "And what do you have to say on this matter?"

"What do I say about the possibility of marrying the most beautiful, powerful and intelligent woman I've ever come across?" Lukas asked in return. "I'd honestly struggle to say no."

"Well, once this war is over, perhaps we can look into the matter with more detail." A blush grew across Daenerys' face as she spoke, a combination of wine and appreciation of the Tyrell's flattery. Even she struggled to control herself when faced with the handsome man's words. Working through the sensation, she tried to focus on something else. "For now, the night grows darker and I seek some entertainment. Perhaps you could help me?"

"I think I could do so, Your Gra… Daenerys." Lukas' tongue quickly recovered from the slight slip. He thought for a second. "A king, a knight and a septon walk into a tavern…"

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Varys paused outside Her Grace's chambers, a message from one of his little birds in hand. He made no move to open the door, however, merely listening to the muffled voices from within.

"…the maester says 'I'm sorry my Lord, but you only have 4 to live.' The lord says '4 what? 4 days, 4 weeks?' The maester says '3, 2…'" The words turned into laughter at this point, the light giggle of the Queen growing quickly, mixed with the deeper chuckle of her new Tyrell advisor.

Varys waited a few moments longer, a smile growing slightly on his lips, before continuing down the hallway, headed back to his own chamber. The message could wait until morning to be delivered. From what he had heard, the last Targaryen hadn't had many opportunities to enjoy herself while growing up. He wouldn't let the response of a minor lord half a world away ruin one of these small chances for happiness. She deserved that much, at the very least.

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As with the voyage to Meereen, the next few days fell into a sort of pattern for Lukas, as the time drew nearer for the invasion to begin. He spent his days training, honing his bow skills and working to improve his ability with his new Valyrian steel blade, as well as strategizing, working out new potential plans to gain the Iron Throne faster and with less bloodshed. His nights were equally filled, either with Nymeria or getting to know his fellow advisors and generals.

Tyrion, and by extension Varys, were the two Lukas was more attune to, past experiences serving to bridge any gaps caused by their varied approaches to situations. He also worked to become acquainted with the Dragon Queen's other associates. Missandei, the interpreter and right arm to Daenerys, was the easier of the pair, her kind and loyal nature winning Lukas over within minutes, and his attempts at friendship welcomed warmly by the former Naathi slave. The Unsullied commander, Grey Worm, reminded Lukas of a statue, thoughts hidden behind a stone mask and nearly impossible to fully break through. Using his limited grip on High Valyrian, the young lord managed to slowly work his way in, winning the eunuch warrior with his tactical mind and loyalty to Daenerys. Lukas sensed that he would only truly gain Grey Worm's respect once he had proven himself in battle, but there was time enough for that later. For now, he was content with the slight relaxation of friction from the ever-serious soldier.

And still, his most precious time was with the Dragon Queen herself. Lukas found himself spending time in her chambers quite frequently, summoned almost every other night to enjoy some wine with Daenerys. These were rarely formal moments, both parties choosing to save such talk until they were truly on the way to Westeros. The time was instead spent merely on talking, learning about each other and the roads that had led them to that current moment. Lukas spoke avidly about his home, his mind a veritable font of knowledge on the histories of the Seven Kingdoms, and, more specifically, the Reach. Daenerys, in turn, spoke of her experiences in Essos, from the Free Cities to the vaunted city of Qarth. As a man who had once trained at the Citadel, Lukas latched onto every detail provided, his knowledge steadily growing as he heard of the Mother of Dragons' life. Neither spoke of what would happen during or after the war, choosing to leave that, especially the marriage offer, for a day where that would be the only concern, the pair quite content to fill their minds with other, less important matters, enjoying the final peaceful days they would see for a long time.

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At last, the fateful day of departure dawned on the city of Meereen. The harbour and surrounding bay was filled with activity, as the great fleet was loaded with men and readied for departure. Unsullied and Dothraki alike swarmed over ships, checking and re-checking their weapons, horses and armour. At this hour of reckoning, they could not risk leaving anything behind. For, once they set out, there was no turning back.

Lukas stood on the deck of his ship, waiting for the people in the small approaching boat. As his was the largest ship in the massive Targaryen fleet, he had offered it over to Daenerys as her flagship, an offer she had only accepted after several minutes of persuasion. The largest, most striking and, as soon as Lukas had first thought war a possibility, best armoured ship deserved no position in a fleet other than at its head. It would lead the invasion, the largest of its kind since Aegon's Conquest or the mass exodus under Princess Nymeria.

Finally, the small transport arrived, and Lukas made his way along the deck to greet the figures arriving on the impressive warship.

"Welcome aboard, Your Grace." He called out, bowing slightly with his fist pressed to his chest. "The _Seastar_ is yours."

"Thank you, my Lord Tyrell." Daenerys replied, formal words deceived by the sparkle in her eye as she spoke. Lukas' face shared the same expression as he gestured for the group to follow him. Daenerys, Missandei, Tyrion and Varys, the Inner Circle of the New Targaryen Dynasty, kept pace with him as he returned to the top deck. The Captain and Nymeria were waiting for them, both bowing as the Dragon Queen climbed up the short flight of wooden stairs.

"We're ready when you are, Your Grace." Lukas informed Daenerys as she stood, looking out across the ship and out into the water beyond it. She didn't turn around for a moment, seemingly lost in her contemplation of the forest of masts before her, all flying the red three-headed dragon with pride. Eventually, she turned to face the Tyrell Lord.

"I think we've waited long enough, don't you?" She asked in response, her regal persona out in full force while her eyes glimmered with excitement. Lukas grinned.

"Captain," he called over his shoulder, "take us out." As the sails were unfurled, canvas filling with wind to pull the ship along, trumpets sounded from all across the water, as the rest of the armada followed the lead of their flagship. Lukas moved to stand alongside Daenerys, watching as the great fleet began to move forwards, with dragons, roses and suns all blossoming on the sails as Meereen slowly began to sink. The time had come, and the Dragons would soon return to Westeros, to claim what was theirs.

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 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

 **Just like to address something quickly. I have no idea what any eventual pairing will be. It won't be Sansa, I know that much, but beyound that? No clue at all. If you have an idea, or would just like to say something nice, please leave it in the reviews. Nasty stuff will get removed.**

 **Anyways, thanks for sticking around, and I'll see y'all next time.**

 **TimeFury1347**

 **(Quick note: To Guest, you never left a name-I'll see what I can do)**


	4. Rewrite Update

I've been re-reading what I wrote for this story, and I've decided that I will not come back to it.

I don't like the way I wrote it, I don't like when I started it, and I don't like how much I have to do in such a short time on the show (time jumping between episodes aside). I know how I _want_ to write it, but I can't do that with what I have. If I did, I'd just be referring to stuff in the past, or posting flashbacks, and that doesn't sit right with me.

I will be restarting this story eventually. Most likely not for a while, though. Between my studies, the stories I'm currently writing, and the ones I'm planning (both the ones I plan to write someday and the ones that just won't stop bouncing around in my head), I don't have a lot of spare time. I promise, though, I will be doing it eventually, and until then I will leave this one up. Once I start again, however, it will be coming down.

If you're a fan of this piece, I'm very sorry to do this to you. But, I don't want to half-arse it and give you a mediocre story. That's not what I do, or at least it's not what I try to do.

Thank you for reading this (provided you didn't just skip to the end), and I'll catch y'all later,

TimeFury1347

 **Update (I know, quick right?)**

You know what I said about this taking a while? Screw it. Just getting back into this has sparked my mind again. I've already started planning the new version (it'll begin in Season 2, for anyone wondering), and, while I can't promise to have it up anytime soon (I'd say anytime before Christmas would seriously be pushing it), I will be placing this story alongside my Arrow one in terms of priority.

 **Second Update (Last one, I swear)**

I was wondering, if anyone reading this had any thoughts about a particular character they'd like to see interact with my character in the upcoming rewrite, I'd very much like to hear it. While I am the writer, I do want to make sure you all enjoy reading, so I'm always open to ideas. They might not make the story itself, but they're fun to read and can actually help me think up scenarios I wouldn't have on my own.

If anyone has any thoughts on possible interactions, either put them in the comments or send me a message. Just a reminder, the rewrite starts in Season 2, and, through 3-6 1/2, will be based in King's Landing, primarily. (I have been considering a quick foray into Dorne at a certain point in Season 5, although nothing's set in stone)

Thank you for your support, and in advance for any ideas, and I hope you enjoy the story when I actually write it


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